


Check Yes Juliet

by onceuponatime



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, i dont even know, this is just fluff kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 12:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponatime/pseuds/onceuponatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There, in the middle of the page, in Michael’s atrocious excuse for handwriting is something that makes anger curl in Luke’s chest. <br/>'wanna go out with me? tick yes or no'<br/>And underneath the note are two crooked little boxes. One allocated yes, and one allocated no. Luke stares at it for a moment in disbelief, because Michael is such a fucking jerk, of course he would poke fun at Luke today when he’s already one tiny push away from bursting into tears. He turns around to glower at Michael, who’s looking at him with some unreadable expression on his face, and scrunches the note up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Check Yes Juliet

**Author's Note:**

> This is lame as Hell but I was listening to Check Yes Juliet (which is the title) and the idea popped into my head. It wasn't supposed to be this long but it kinda ran away from me. It sucks serious balls but I'm gonna post it anyway because why not   
> It's 3am so this thing isn't edited that great so I'm sorry for the mistakes in there somewhere.

He can feel Lizzie’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. She hasn’t stopped staring since she sat down behind him twenty minutes ago. Everyone else is staring, too. It’s really uncomfortable, and he shifts in his seat every few minutes to try and shake the feeling of being watched, but it’s useless. They’re all just _staring_. And they have good reason, Luke thinks. It’s not every day that someone accidentally outs themselves at school. (It wasn’t even his fault, dammit. Brian is in year twelve and he has _piercings_ but Luke should have really known that making out with him on school property would end badly.) He does feel a little bad for Lizzie, though, who had asked him to the formal just this morning. He had agreed to go, and not two hours later someone had sent her the picture of Luke being pressed up against the wall by another boy. He can see _why_ she’s mad, but it’s not like they were actually dating. She was probably just using him for the pictures, anyway.

He’s trying to take the notes down from the board while ignoring the hissing sounds Lizzie is making at him, and from the corner of his eye he can see Calum sidling his desk closer to his own. He shoots Calum a glare because if he’s just doing it to fuck with him, then he’s going to blow up. Calum may have football muscle, but Luke has rage and a whole lot of embarrassment to fuel him. He’s not a fighter, not by a long shot, but he’s had enough of tis bullshit already.

“Psssst. Hemming. Hey, Luke!” Calum whispers, and Luke pretends not to hear him, tries to make it look like he’s intently focussing on the blackboard. “Luke!” Mrs. Robinson stops writing for a second and looks back over her shoulder, but doesn’t comment on how Calum’s desk has moved about a foot to the left. Luke wishes she’d notice and make Calum leave him alone. “Luke!” Calum whisper shouts again, and Luke grips his pencil so tight he’s afraid it’s going to snap.

“What do you want?” Luke asks without looking away from the board.

Calum holds his hand out, and Luke looks at him for a second, raising an eyebrow. And then Calum opens his palm and there’s a small folded square of white paper. Luke is sceptical, but takes it anyway, hiding it under his text book in case their teacher turns around. “It’s from Mikey,” Calum says before starting to move his desk back.

Michael Clifford, Luke thinks. Wonderful. He’s not in the mood to deal with this shit, not today.

But curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself unfolding the small piece of paper, eyes shifting between it and Mrs Robinson in case she catches him with a note and makes him read it in front of the class. It’s happened before, and he’d rather not relive it. Especially if this note has anything to do with what happened today. And if it’s from Michael, Luke thinks, then it most likely does.

When he finally gets it opened (seriously, how many times did Michael fold it over?) he tucks half of it under his textbook before reading it.

There, in the middle of the page, in Michael’s atrocious excuse for handwriting is something that makes anger curl in Luke’s chest.

_wanna go out with me? tick yes or no_

And underneath the note are two crooked little boxes. One allocated yes, and one allocated no. Luke stares at it for a moment in disbelief, because Michael is such a fucking _jerk_ , of course he would poke fun at Luke today when he’s already one tiny push away from bursting into tears. He turns around to glower at Michael, who’s looking at him with some unreadable expression on his face, and scrunches the note up.

He faces back towards the front before he’s able to see the hurt flash in Michael’s eyes and Calum patting his shoulder sympathetically.

*~*

Luke is dead. So dead. He empties his p.e. bag out onto the floor even though it’s useless. He doesn’t have the damn shirt with him and Coach Butler is going to have his head on a spike because this is the third time this has happened this semester alone. He was in a rush this morning when he was gathering his phys ed kit and grabbed the navy Good Charlotte shirt instead of his navy polo shirt. He stands in the middle of the changing room, considering faking a tummy ache, but Butler is a hard ass and will probably make him run laps or something for lying. He thinks about wearing the white school shirt, but he’s got three more classes after this and doesn’t want to go to them stinking of sweat. So he sighs and pulls on the Good Charlotte shirt and prepares himself for the ass chewing he’s about to get.

The second he’s out of the changing room, Coach Butler descends on him and tells him he’s lucky that uniform violation is the only complaint he has about him otherwise he’d have detention for the next two weeks. Luke promises it won’t happen again. Michael’s loitering at the edge of the gymnasium with Calum, and Luke can see him looking over, looking at Luke’s shirt. Luke tugs on the hem of it self-consciously, walking away from the doors and heading to the small group of boys that’s formed in the middle, a few of them bouncing basketballs and hollering.

Before he even makes it halfway, Michael is bounding up beside him. Luke tries to keep the eyeroll back, because they are _not friends_ , but Michael just doesn’t seem to get the message. It’s not that Luke doesn’t like Michael, it’s that Luke is sure Michael doesn’t like him and is only doing all this shit to piss him off. And it’s working.

“I love Good Charlotte,” Michael says, and it sounds a little bashful. Luke chances a look over at him, and sees the faint tint to his cheeks. It’s a little cute, Luke will admit, but Michael is a well known asshole and his arch-nemesis, so fraternising with him is out of the question.

“Me too,” Luke says, and when Michael grins he knows he’s made a mistake.

“They’re playing here in a couple of months! Me and Cal are going, are you?”

Luke nods. “My brother got me tickets for Christmas.”

“That’s awesome, dude! I’m my mom’s slave for the next three decades cause she bought me my ticket, but it’s gonna be so worth it!”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, smiling and running a hand through his hair. “I mean, Joel Madden is my idol.”

“He’s pretty hot. With all those tattoos,” Michael says, and Luke glances at him from the side. He doesn’t know what Michael’s end game with this whole thing is, and he’s not sure he wants to find out. He gets picked on enough for the florescent green glasses (which Jack said were cool, the dick) and the fact that he’s gay (kids can be such assholes) and he does not need Michael goddamn Clifford adding to the pit of misery that is his life. “Hey,” Michael exclaims, and it makes Luke jump. Michael is looking at him with those big eyes again and Luke tries not to stare into them too long in case Michael reads it wrong or something. Totally platonic. Hell, it’s not even platonic. “You wanna come round to mine? I got The Young and the Hopeless on vinyl and we can listen to it if you wanna?”

Michael looks honest enough, but Luke is still a little wary, He’s not the kid people invite to their houses. He’s the kid that kind of hangs on to the outside of the groups looking for a place to fit in. And maybe Michael is his place, but he’s been the butt of the joke (some of them Michael’s) for long enough that this sudden invitation makes him a little nervous. He’s being a cynical little shit, he knows, but it’s all about self protection. He’s not going to put himself in the firing line when he can just as easily stand in a field of daisies or some shit. Granted, that field is a little lonely, but at least when he’s alone there’s no one to call him names or knock his books off his desk.

“Uhm, I dunno, Michael. I’d have to ask my mom, and she’s pretty strict about going out on school nights.”

“Oh,” Michael says, and he sounds genuinely disappointed.  Luke feels a little bad, but he’s not going to dress himself in a meat suit and dance in front of hungry lions.

He watches Michael walk away and shake his head at something Calum says. Calum looks over Michael’s shoulder, right at Luke, and gives him a small smile.

Luke has no clue what the fuck is going on.

*~*

Luke still isn’t one hundred percent sure how it happened but he has friends. Calum and Michael are his friends, and he spends time at their houses and they spend time at his. They play music and video games and eat shitty foods and talk shit about people who push Luke around (which has stopped almost completely since he now has Calum Hood: Soccer Superstar willing to stand up for him) and just be with each other.

It’s a nice change, and Luke finds the school day goes a lot quicker when he doesn’t spend lunch sitting alone in the corner of the library, discreetly eating lunch so he doesn’t get kicked out.

Now he spends his lunch in the cafeteria, laughing and joking and enjoying being with people. Enjoying being with _Michael,_ which is the thing that surprises him a lot.

Michael is just as awkward and shy as he is, while simultaneously being loud and funny. He likes hugs way too much, gives Luke burned copies of albums his mother would have a heart attack if she knew he was listening to, and spends a lot of time talking about cartoons. Luke wonders why he ever thought Michael was anything other than awesome.

“So then my mom totally freaked out because I lightened my hair a little bit,” Michael says, picking a few fries off his tray and popping them into his mouth.

“A _little_ bit?” Calum asks incredulously. “Mikey, you bleached your hair. It’s fucking platinum!”

Luke smiles around the straw he has in his mouth. Michael’s arms are flapping wildly as he tries to explain to Calum that it was totally not dangerous and Calum asks where Michael even found peroxide in his house.

“You’re a tool. You could have burned your fucking scalp off. I’m going to get more chocolate milk. Luke, don’t let this idiot do anything else to harm his dwindling brain cells.” Michael chucks a fry at the back of Calum’s head, and sticks his tongue out when Calum turns to berate him. Luke just laughs, loves the easy banter that comes with Michael and Calum’s eight years of friendship.

“I really like it,” Luke finally says, staring at the napkins on his tray. “Your hair, I mean. Very punk.”

Michael practically beams, his smile so big Luke is afraid he’s actually going to hurt himself. “You mean that? That’s what I was going for.”

“I mean it. It looks really good.”

Luke can see Michael’s cheeks heat up, watches him play with his lip just for something to do. It’s quiet and awkward between them, which it hasn’t been in so long and it makes Luke feel bad. He can’t think of something to say or anything to talk about. Bands are usually a good topic to get into a conversation with Michael about, but Luke can’t think of a single band he’s listened to in, like, ever.

“Luke?” Michael asks, and he’s speaking in the voice he uses when he’s a little uncomfortable or nervous around people. Luke feels his breath catch in his throat. “’Cause it’s nearly Halloween, they’re showing Dawn of the Dead in the cinema, and I was wondering if you’d wanna, maybe, uhm, come see it with me?”

“And Calum?” Luke asks, already knowing the answer. His fingers start messing with the plastic wrapping from his straw and Michael’s face goes even paler.

“It would uh, just be the two of us?” Luke likes Michael, he does. And that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to go on a date with him. This is the fourth time he’s had to decline a date since they started hanging out. Calum has told him about the tiny little crush Michael is harbouring on him, but Luke doesn’t want to throw away the first proper friendship he ever had for a cinema date and maybe a fumbling handjob. He wants to have Michael around longer than that.

“Mike, not this again. I..” He doesn’t get to finish because Calum is plonking back into his chair, complaining about how the lady at the cash register was being a total ass when he notices how quiet Michael is.

“Dude, you okay?” he asks, sliding his open pack of chips over the table so Michael can share.

“Hmm? What? Yeah, just, Biology test later. Little freaked.”

Calum looks between Michael and Luke but doesn’t say anything.

*~*

He’s so, so drunk. While the rest of their year group went out to clubs to celebrate graduating, he’s laying on the floor in Michael’s granny flat, empty beer bottles scattered around, some band Michael’s going through an obsession with blaring over the speakers. He’s on his own – Calum herded his boyfriend Ashton into one of the other rooms about half an hour ago to do God knows what and Michael, well, he’s somewhere.

Luke’s limbs are tingling, and his head is a little heavy, but he feels good. He did it; he finished high school. He’s just thinking about the last few years of his life, tipping warm beer back into his mouth every now and then and spilling it over his chest from the awkward angle when Michael bursts back into the room, covering his eyes and yelling something Luke doesn’t quite catch.

“Wha’?” Luke asks, lifting his head from the floor and looking at Michael.

“I just wanted to grab a blanket! The door was open! Oh God, Luke, I didn’t need to see that! _Hear_ that!” Luke laughs and lets his head fall back against the floor, dropping his now empty beer bottle and hearing it roll over the wooden floor.

“You should have known,” Luke argues feebly. He really should have – those two had been touchy all day, it was only a matter of time. Luke can only think about how his legs feel like marshmallows but even _he_ knows not to enter a room Calum and Ashton are occupying alone.

“I didn’t think they’d do that in my spare bed. Save that shit for your own house.” He drops to the floor beside Luke after kicking a few bottles out of the way. “How much have you drank, Hemmings?”

“Many,” Luke says, turning to look at Michael, whose green fringe is falling into his eyes. Luke has an urge to brush it away with his fingers. So he does, ignoring the little hitch in Michael’s breath.

“Many?” Michael laughs, scooting a little closer to Luke on the floor. “Me too. Maybe not as many as you, but enough that I’m gonna regret it in the morning.”

Luke can’t help but notice that the colour of Michael’s eyes is nearly the same colour as the glass bottles. He really is pretty, Luke thinks, with his crazy hair and plump red lips. He’s not even aware that he’s moving his face closer to Michael’s until he’s able to see each of Michael’s individual eyelashes and can feel Michael’s warm breath fan across his face.

“What are you doing?” Michael whispers. And what is he doing? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that Michael’s lips are there and pretty and shiny with spit and he wants to feel them against his own.

He runs the pad of his thumb over Michael’s bottom lip, index finger resting under his chin. “You have really nice lips,” Luke mutters, moving to caress Michael’s top lip.

“Luke,” Michael starts, but before he can even finish his sentence Luke is leaning forward even more until their lips are touching.

It’s weird, just their mouths pressing together, but then Luke moves his hand to the back of Michael’s neck to pull him closer, and Michael goes willingly. They start moving their mouths together, and Luke can taste the soda and vodka Michael was drinking on his tongue. Michael’s lips are as soft as they look, and are warm and tentative against Luke’s own. Kissing Michael is wonderful and he can’t help but think about why they haven’t done this before.

When they eventually pull apart with red faces and heavy breathing, Luke can already feel how swollen his lips are going to be. It was pretty tame, as kisses go, but he feels guilty. The alcohol in his system and the thoughts in his head are making him nauseous, and all he can see is Michael, all he can taste is Michael.

“What ... uhm, that was cool?” Michael stammers, and Luke lays there in silence. It was cool, but he shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have kissed Michael.

Michael moves closer again and rests a hand on Luke’s waist. “Guess this isn’t the time to ask for a date is it?”

Luke turns his head and vomits all over the floor.

*~*

The buzzing from the phone on his nightstand hasn’t stopped since he left the bar last night. He knows without looking that most of the messages are from Michael.

He probably should answer, let them know that he’s fine and still alive. Michael, at least, because he was so worried last night, offering to take Luke home even though the party was only starting. He can’t, though. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone because he knows exactly what they’re going to say and he doesn’t want to deal with eyes full of pity and sympathetic words that only make him feel worse.

He’s not even sad, is the thing. He’s just embarrassed. Embarrassed that all his classmates were there to see him cry when he caught his boyfriend cheating on his in the bathroom of some dingy pub. He flipped out, screamed and yelled and cried. He remembers Josh trying to pull him back and apologise, tell him it meant nothing, but then Michael punched him in the nose and took Luke outside for a breather. Hugged him and told him Josh wasn’t worth any tears.

He didn’t love Josh. Josh was sweet and handsome, but Luke didn’t love him. He’s a little upset that they ended on such bad terms, but he’s more embarrassed of his reaction. If Josh didn’t love him either then they could have just split – preserve both their reputations. But of course Luke had to make a scene.

He groans and covers his face with his hands, feeling it heat up when he remembers pouring a pint over Josh’s head. God, he went so overboard.

There’s pounding on his bedroom door, but Luke doesn’t answer, just pulls the duvet higher over his head and prays whoever it is gets the message and leaves him alone. They don’t, of course, because living with his three friends means that privacy went out the window the second they signed the lease, and not two seconds later his door is swinging open and someone is sliding into the bed behind him.

He doesn’t even need to look to know that it’s Michael. He’s been wearing the same cologne for about five years. It’s comforting and familiar and Luke turns around so he can shove his face in Michael’s chest and inhale it. Michael’s arms automatically wind around his waist and his cheek rests on top of Luke’s head, and for the first time since he lay in the damn bed it feels like he can breathe again.

“I’m sorry for the way he treated you,” Michael mumbles, and Luke can feel his lips move against the top of his head.

Luke laughs and it sounds weird and throaty. “Well, you busted his nose so I think it evens out.”

“No it doesn’t. He doesn’t get to hurt you like that, no one does.”

Luke doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know _what_ to say. Michael sounds so earnest that it makes something in Luke’s chest flutter. Michael’s fingers are trailing softly over his t-shirt, catching in the fabric and rucking it up at the bottom. He can hear Calum and Ashton messing about in the kitchen, shouting about the coffee pot or something and Michael’s humming some My Chemical Romance song, and it feels homey. It nearly knocks the breath out of him when he realises just how much he likes being in Michael’s arms.

He’s always loved hugging Michael, but this feels different somehow. More intimate.

Michael hasn’t asked him on a date in a while, but if he asks now, then Luke knows he’ll say yes. It was getting harder and harder to resist, but now he thinks he’s ready to give them both what they want. At the start he was afraid Michael was only asking him to poke fun, make Luke feel bad. And then they were friends, and Luke didn’t want to risk whatever they had on a teenage crush. But now – Luke thinks they’re ready. Both of them.

His breathing picks up. He’s nervous suddenly, thinking about what he could have with the man who tries so hard to make sure he’s happy, and he’s sending Michael telepathic messages to ask him out again, to not be afraid because this time he’ll say yes.

“Luke,” Michael starts and Luke freezes. _This is it_ , Luke thinks as he bunches his fist in the fabric of Michael’s shirt. “Don’t worry about all this, okay? You’ll find someone.” Luke squeezes Michael’s shirt tighter, squeezes his eyes shut. “Even if it’s not me,” Michael adds with a chuckle to make it sound like he’s joking, even though they both know he’s not.

Luke’s stomach churns.

*~*

When Luke woke up, Michael was still snoring heavily above him. He rubbed at his eyes and contemplated going back to sleep, but his throat was dry and his legs were starting to cramp from laying in bed all day. He felt around under the sheets until he grasped his phone, and groaned when he saw it was just after one a.m. His sleeping pattern was so, so fucked.

He went down to the kitchen, careful not to wake Michael to get a glass of water and a poptart. It was when he was resting against the counter that he saw the refill pad Calum uses for college laying open on the counter and got an idea.

He wasn’t expecting anyone else to be awake at this time, but before Luke even makes it through his first poptart, Michael is walking into the kitchen, dressed just in a t-shirt and boxers. He steals the other poptart from Luke’s plate and takes a bite before resting his head against Luke’s shoulder.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Luke says, taking a drink of water. His voice is wobbly as his eyes keep landing on the folded piece of paper with Michael’s name scribbled on the front. The butterflies in his stomach are going crazy, but Michael doesn’t seem to notice, just nibbles at the pastry.

“Nah, I was hungry.”

“So you come down here to steal my food?” Luke asks, brushing crumbs off the front of Michael’s shirt.

Michael opens his mouth wide to show Luke the mushed up poptart. “You want it back?”

Luke crinkles his nose and pokes Michael’s shoulder. “You’re fucking gross. Put that plate in the dishwasher when you’re finished.” Michael nods but otherwise stays quiet.

“Right, well I’m going back to bed,” Luke announces into the silence and looks back at the page on the worktop. His stomach is going crazy and his muscles feel tight, wound up like a spring. Michael catches him looking, and leans to the side to see what caught Luke’s eye.

“What are you looking for?”

“Nothin’” Luke answers.

“What’s that?” Michael asks, standing from the stool at the breakfast bar and wiping his hands on his boxers. Luke shrugs. “Is it for me?” Michael asks, eyebrows raised.

“It has your name on it, dingbat.”

Luke can feel his hands shaking as Michael picks up the page and flips it open, mouthing along to the words Luke scribbled on the page. Neither of them say anything for a few seconds, Michael’s mouth hanging open. Luke wishes he would make some indication to show how he’s feeling, what he’s thinking.

“Is this serious?” Michael asks, and he sounds wary. Luke walks around the island in the centre of the kitchen to stand beside him, hooking his chin over Michael’s shoulder.

“Of course,” he says, and Michael nods, moving out of Luke’s arms. “Where are you going?”

“You got a marker?” Michael asks with a smirk. Luke laughs and rolls his eyes, grabbing the pen he discarded on the counter.

When Michael hands Luke back the page it’s folded in half again. “You know, you never replied to mine.”

Luke just focuses on the little tick in the ‘yes’ box before throwing the note on the counter and pulling Michael close against him. He’s smiling so wide his face is starting to hurt, but it’s okay, because Michael is smiling back just as big. “Sorry it took me so long.”

Michael laughs and shrugs one shoulder. “You were worth waiting for.”

**Author's Note:**

> yeah... it's gross I know  
> but come talk to me on tumblr @ t1mburton about the colour of michael's lips because wow


End file.
